Standing In The Light Of Your Halo
by slashburd
Summary: Are any of us really that perfect that we can criticise others? M/M Slash feat AJ Styles and Desmond Wolfe. If bad language, derogatory terms and religious referencing offends please don't read, you have been warned! All reads and reviews appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Please be warned that this story has a large content of strong bad language, terms that may be offensive to some and references to some religious hypocrisy. If you are familiar with the character of Desmond Wolfe from TNA you'll know that he's not reknowned for his demure behaviour or liberal views. Basically he's in this in a very big way so if you've got a problem with any of that, don't read it. Simple as. If you message to flame me after reading the summary and/or this warning/disclaimer then I'll tell you now that I won't be apologising. Just thought we'd better get that clear from the outset. So, for all those willing to read with an open mind, please enjoy the ride!!**

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_Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo. ~H.G. Wells_

The last time Desmond had heard the term "Bend over and touch your toes!" had been years ago when he was just a snivelling seventeen year old trying his hand at being a squaddie. He'd not made it past the taster weekend when he'd found himself abandoned in the middle of the North Yorkshire Moors; as bleak and barren a landscape as the Sahara, except colder and with more rain and sheep. For hours he had trekked towards a waiting camp only to find out that he and the hundred other barely post-pubescent wannabes had the job of building said camp. After two days of pissing in the bushes, living off rehydrated scrambled eggs and wearing more face paint than a drag queen he'd had enough. His dreams shattered he'd headed home and decided to pursue other aspirations, principally the one that had been his biggest since he'd first seen pro-wrestling on Saturday afternoon television as a child.

As he stared at the toes of his wrestling boots those were the wild thoughts that ran through his mind as he waited for the next instruction, the next words to break the uncomfortable silence as his body was being inspected. The blood began to flow to his head quickly as he was left bent there, the thud of the building pressure clearly audible in his ears. From nowhere a hot, clammy hand ran along the cool skin on the back of his thighs and up towards where his damp trunks covered the firm cheeks of his arse. His entire body tensed. Having accepted during his time in the business that certain things would happen, whether he wanted them to or not, this was one of the curveball moments nothing could've prepared him for.

Bent over in the dingy backstage office of one of his lifelong heroes with bony fingers touching his more intimate areas was surely not part of the deal he'd found himself considering. Having spent years either in the midcard or with lesser promotions Steve who was Nigel had turned into Desmond and started to make a name for himself. Using every scrap of his Britishness to make an impression had paid off and the gimmick got him over as quick as any of the bigger stars. His abrasive, London geezer, 'fuck-you' persona was not a difficult one to act out. Most of it wasn't an act. Since he'd gotten serious about getting to the top of the game no matter what it took his fairly mild-mannered nature had been boxed up and marked 'to be reopened after retirement'. Wheeled out instead was someone who not only made but truly believed their own hype. That ego-fuelled determination seemed to be what had led him to feel the cupping of his balls through the lycra that tightly encased them.

"So Des, Dessie, you want to be just like my AJ huh? You want a piece of the action? I can get you that belt. You and Styles can take this place by storm, take it down and keep it for your own. My boys will run this place just like me and Hulk did back in the day. An unstoppable combination, you'll be the best there ever was in TNA, brother!"

Ric's voice was slightly gruff and unfamiliar. He hadn't been around long but it was long enough for everyone to fear the power and the influence he had at the top level. He'd been brought in to lead AJ's monster push and raise the profile of the re-launch but, between himself and Hogan, Desmond knew they'd got it all stitched up. If you wanted anything, particularly if you wanted to get on, there were now even more rings to kiss and palms to grease. Having been taken aside by AJ for a 'quiet word' he'd been told that there was nothing to worry about as his talent had been noticed. All he had to do was approach Ric, make his intentions clear and the rest would be done. That clearly was not happening though and as the fingers of the older man pressed roughly into his warm crevice he bit down on his lip and just waited as the silence somehow dominated any attempts he wanted to make to get away.

"Now brother, you help me, I'll help you. I know it was AJ that set you onto me so he will have filled you in on what I expect from my rising stars. I don't do this for nothin' and you get a whole lot more than nothin' out of it so its a damned fair deal. Now you agree to that, we get the contracts drawn up and your new life begins kiddo. I'm gonna make you the next AJ Styles. Cut in the cloth of the Nature Boy himself. Now stand up and get gone kid, go take a shower, get some rest and come back to me after the show tomorrow with your decision. Make it a good one...."

As soon as Ric's almost maniacal laughter began it was punctuated with a loud 'Woooooooooooooooo!' which was the last thing Desmond heard as he clicked the door shut behind him. The first thing on his agenda was to go and get washed and changed out of his ring gear. The second was to go and find AJ and have his own 'quiet word'.

~~x~~

"You fucking wanker. Setting me up like that ...who the fuck do you think you're playing games with..._Champ_?"

Desmond hadn't made it to the showers before his path had crossed with the man who'd played him into offering himself up to Ric. The red mist had descended and there he stood, screaming obscenities directly and literally into the face of the company. His arm was braced horizontally across AJ's throat cutting just enough of the airflow to send the tanned face before him heading towards a berry red colour.

"I...I don't know... what you're talking a...about Des..."

AJ struggled to force the words out of his mouth, the closure of his windpipe and the impact of his head against the steel lockers were conspiring against his coherency and his consciousness. Desmond was stronger than he looked and AJ knew he was right on the verge of finding out just how strong which made him choose any words he could manage carefully.

"Don't bullshit me Styles. You sent me to Flair saying I could get a quick way to the top. You know I want success in this shitty company more than anyone, fuck, maybe more than a spineless little arsehole creeper like you. I get there, he grabs my bollocks and tries shoving his fucking fingers up my arse. You knew he was going to do it and you didn't have the fucking decency to warn me? You set me up!"

Ramming AJ once more into the steel Desmond fought the urge to start pounding the semi-smugly expressioned face that looked back at him. He and AJ had never been close, never anything more than casual locker room acquaintances. The God complex that AJ had extended way past his place at the top of the pile. His thoughts on homosexuality, and particularly Desmond's own homosexuality were well known and well broadcast. The fact that he hailed from one of the eastern Bible Belt states was public knowledge and half the reason he had more rabid fans that anyone else. That should've made the personal attacks more understandable but all it did was fire Desmond up more to be as open as he'd ever been. Whilst not a flamboyant character he never shied away from just being himself either, something which had served to piss AJ off over a number of months.

Whilst he'd known that AJ disapproved of the way he lived his life he tended to stay out of his way, mainly hearing the disparaging comments from a distance. Most of the guys cut him some slack once he'd made it clear he'd rather touch himself up than anyone in the locker room. Although the communal showers were sparsely populated when he found himself in there after a match, Desmond didn't mind. He'd not come all the way from England to get turned over by what he perceived to be hypocritical closet cases having witnessed and participated in their same-sex debauchery behind his own closed bedroom door more than once.

AJ breathed in hard to try and steady his nerves, get himself back to some kind of organised thought. He had known what Ric would ask of Desmond. It was something that he'd had to concede to himself. It was true that he had success before Ric arrived but he wanted more and saw Ric as the the golden gates to paradise that would cement him his place in the main event for the foreseeable future.

"I...didn't...what? He did that to you? Des...I'm sorry man. I had no idea."

The words tripped off his tongue as easily as the lies to his wife had started to slip off it recently. He'd been having more and more late night meetings, promotional trips, secretive phone calls and clothes torn due to his carelessness or some punk fan picking a fight outside an arena or an IHOP.

"You're no better than he is. You're a fucking liar Styles. Did you offer me up as some kind of bartering tool? _"I'll get you Wolfey if I don't have to suck your pathetic senile old cock any more?"_ Is that it? You spout all this bullshit about the bible but its not me groping an elderly man with a sac so shrivelled a fucking prune would put it to shame is it? And don't insult my intelligence by telling me that its not true. He said I'd obviously known what to expect because you'd sent me there. How fucking stupid can I get, trusting good little God botherer Allen Jones?"

Desmond knew that he was on the verge of losing it altogether. He knew that if he let himself go much further there wouldn't be much of AJ left that would be identifiable. Pulling his arm down he grabbed the collar of the expensive dress shirt he had no doubt Ric had dressed his plaything in. He pulled AJ close, looking into piercing blue eyes that had widened with fear and for a full five seconds Desmond wondered why he'd believed a single word that had been calculated in the twisted brain that hid behind them.

"Des, if I'd told you, would you have gone to Ric? No. If someone had told me I wouldn't have gone. I'd still be heading down the card, watching the younger guys take everything that I worked so hard with this company to build just cos Hogan wants to sell t-shirts more than put wrestling in the show. I had two choices Des and I took the one that made me the better man."

The moment the final words had escaped his mouth AJ knew that he'd said the wrong thing. He'd all but spat them out to try and justify his actions. The sneer on Desmond's face was indicative of everything he felt himself about the situation and the lies it was making him tell. He knew that his deal with Ric meant he'd sold out everything he'd ever stood for. He knew it was the most awful thing he'd ever had to do in his career but he didn't feel he had any choice in the matter. The approach had been made one night when the plans for January 4th were almost finalised. It was left to him to decide where he wanted his future to go but he didn't feel like he could stand by and watch someone else get that opportunity over him.

It wasn't the first time he'd made a sacrifice to get somewhere but it was the biggest sacrifice on the biggest stage, that was for sure. There were some skeletons in his closet. He hadn't taken beauty class at school for no reason. He hadn't been proclaimed the best hand massager in the history of his teacher's career for no reason. Finally, and most importantly, he hadn't gotten married for no reason. His plain and dutiful wife bore their three children, sons and heirs to the family throne. She had no idea that the gesture of giving their first born a middle name tagged as a tribute to a friend meant so much more than that. A gesture that had been reciprocated by the man in question only months later. Children who were born out of a pact made on a lonely night on tour when it was agreed that 'this' had to stop, had to end. That 'it' was over, whatever 'it' truly was.

Releasing the grip of one hand Desmond brought it across to AJ's neck and slipped his fingers underneath the thin gold trace chain that was weighted down by a crucifix and caressed the metal gently.

"You think he forgives you AJ? He sees you getting on your knees and thinks that's ok because you want to get on in the world. Bullshit. He knows what I know about you. He knows about you and Daniels. In fact I'd go as far as to say that he knows that you and your wife are nothing more than a set-up, a sham. Walking round here, quoting the bible, saying I'm the one who's in the wrong, that I'm going to hell...."

Desmond ripped the chain easily, gathering it and the crucifix in his fingers before pressing the cold gold to AJ's cheek.

"...well you're wrong. See, my God doesn't like liars. My God doesn't care who I am or who I fuck as long as I'm honest about it. We all believe AJ, just some of us believe more than others. Some of us use the power to hurt. That's what what good Christian boys like you do. Is that what makes you the better man AJ? Believing that you're only doing this for your wife? For the kids? Fucking hypocrites like you make me sick, you really do."

Desmond dragged AJ over to the full length mirror bolted onto the wall nearby and shoved him roughly down on his knees. He grabbed the short hair that spiked out from the top of AJ's head and forced him to look at their reflection.

"See that's you Styles. That's the real you that God sees but doesn't know. Only now imagine I'm the bloody Nature Boy and I've got my wizened cock in your face. You can kneel down there till your fucking hair turns grey just like his and tell me all you like about how you're doing this for your family or because you truly are the 'better' man. But what I'll tell you AJ is that you're not a man at all while you're offering your arse to Flair like some back street prostitute with a smack habit."

Not that he had much choice in the matter AJ looked at his reflection in the mirror. He had to admit he hardly recognised himself in the hand-tailored trousers and shirt that Ric had left out for him in his dressing room. It was a far cry from the ripped jeans and stock standard Affliction t-shirts he wore after the bell only a couple of months ago. Gone were all the traces of the man he was and in their place were the trappings of being selected to be little more than Ric's bitch.

A flush of shame hit his face. He'd kidded himself on that this was only a short term gig, that he'd be able to cope with a few months of servicing some old guy to ensure long term security for his family and better still, long term contact with the man he'd loved for longer than he could remember. He cast his eyes up to look at the thunderous expression on Desmond's face as he carried on sneering down at him, the aggression palpable in the way the long fingers were tightly laced as far as they'd go into his highlighted hair.

AJ realised that he hadn't really thought it through when he'd given Desmond the nod to go to Ric. He'd supposed that with Desmond being as predisposed to another man's touch as he was that Ric's demands wouldn't be an issue. Not for one second did it cross his mind that it would speak volumes about what he thought of the man now stood over him. A man, AJ conceded, who was justifiably angry at the assumptions that had been made.

Having all but overtly suggested that Desmond's sexuality would compromise his morals he slowly realised that being gay, secretly or otherwise, had nothing to do with succumbing as he had. It was his own desperation that had made take the deal. Now he thought about it his words about Desmond were a bit rich coming from a closet case who called everyone who wasn't screwing five ring rats a week a fag. All this from the married man who was on his knees for Ric every night and wished for stolen moments with the one man who had gotten away for now at least.

"Des, c'mon. I'm sorry. I never meant anything by it. I know you want to do well, I just... well its how I got here. Don't you want that? I know its Ric but its not as bad as it seems. His demands are...well...reasonable and it don't take long to get something done if you catch my drift. I'm a businessman Des. I gotta make this work. I put too much into this show to watch it all get taken away by some 21 year old in a glittery pair of tights. This matters man, matters so much to me...."

Watching the change in AJ's face softened some of the anger and resentment that Desmond felt. He wasn't meant to know about the thing with Daniels but there were one or two of the guys who'd been around at the time who'd mentioned it to him when he was the butt of AJ's gay jokes. They'd taken him aside in the past to beg for leniency for AJ when they'd found out just what Desmond was capable of. A few of the younger stars had ended up in the emergency room getting stitched up one night after nothing short of a bear baiting session. He was nobody's poofter, nobody's shirtlifter or bender. He'd never been able to rationalise how liking men was supposed to make him limp wristed and feeble when he'd been a world champion wrestler. Slowly he loosened his grip and wiped the waxy deposit that had accumulated on his fingers onto the t-shirt he was wearing.

"Get up."

AJ did as he was told, too confused, weary and scared to argue with the man who'd taken him down too easily for his own liking. He felt himself being spun round on his heels until he stood face to face with the man who appeared to tower over him despite only being a few inches taller.

"Just to let you know, I won't be taking Ric up on his offer. I just don't think I can do that to myself, too much self respect us Brits. Don't just roll over and give up like you Yanks. We fight hard for what we want and we get it by the right means or not at all. I've served my time in this business Styles, I've taken my bumps and I'll get there. See, I'll take your belt away and laugh in yours and Flair's pathetic faces as I do it."

As Desmond spoke to him he was unbuckling the belt and undoing the dress pants of the suit that AJ had worn for his promo earlier. Despite there being no restraint, no force, no other contact AJ found himself stood there, playing possum to the man that had spent the last twenty minutes roughing him up. He didn't dare to look away from the stare-down he'd entered into as he felt the zipper being slowly pulled down. A hand snaked inside and he felt the rough and calloused skin of Desmond's fingertips catching on the black silk boxers that Ric liked to see him wear the most. He had to admit the shorts looked good on him and felt amazing against his skin. Coming from such a poor background he'd never experienced such luxury items and even now he still balked at paying $20 a pair for Jockey shorts. The eager digits soon found their way to his hardening erection and he heard his gulp echo loudly in the quiet of the room.

Desmond saw the flush rising up AJ's face and smiled, his lips curled into the almost trademark sly smirk that accompanied most of the on-camera words he delivered. He rubbed his hand up and down, feeling the smaller man's hot breaths quickening as they blew against his neck. He tilted his head down, licked his lips and moved towards AJ, inviting him in for a kiss.

AJ felt the sensations overriding his fear and his anger, both of which had turned to lust as his body reacted to the touching. Leaning forward himself he pressed his lips to Desmond's, feeling the slippery tongue sliding into his mouth. The confusion at the lack of force shocked him. This wasn't like it was with Chris and nothing like what it was with Ric, the thought of the latter more likely to induce a shudder than a shiver. The back and forth nature of the kiss as he got more and more into it caused him to groan, the degree to which he was now hard making him ache from his waist down to his feet.

Before he knew it, the feelings were gone and he stood there with his eyes still closed, the warm sensation down the front of his body slowly cooling and fading. He looked across to the other side of the room where he saw Desmond with his hand wrapped around the the door handle ready to open it, his holdall dumped at his feet. As AJ clamped his hand to the back of his neck looking for some sense of security he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His lips were red and swollen, his eyes half lidded with the lust and desire he'd allowed himself to slip into. The less said about the embarrassing bulge that strained his exposed underwear the better, he thought.

Desmond watched as AJ regarded his image in the mirror and half kicked himself for walking away from what looked like one of the easiest shags he'd have had since arriving in the company. The taste lingered on his lips and he knew it was one of the sweetest kisses he'd shared in a while. It came with a power and a sensation that only being wanted that much could bring; a taste of victory over someone who'd gone all out to ruin him since the day he'd arrived. He opened the door just wide enough to make it clear he was about to leave and delivered his parting shots with less ease than he had hoped, doing his best to control the breathy tremble in his voice.

"And AJ, just so me and you are clear about a few things...yes, I am a dirty faggot as you so readily remind me. Yes, I'm aware that the bible says that I'm in the wrong but frankly I don't give two fucks what that fairytale says. You have a long look at yourself in that mirror and I wonder if you like what you see. Now me, my conscience is clear. I'm not riding anybody's balls for fame, fortune or personal gain. I don't fondle some fucker's bollocks to get where I am. However, if one day you decide you do want to be a better man once you've stopped sucking Flair off then, and only then, come back to me and we'll have this little chat again you snivelling tosser."

As he went through the door and then heard it click closed behind him, Desmond paused for a moment and then propped himself against the cool painted wall of he corridor. Just feet away from him was a man who's halo had just slipped and now it rested in Desmond's own hands; hands that had just been in the pants of the top dog. A dog who's bark had suddenly become as worthless as its pathetic bite ever was.

He started towards the exit, having made the decision to shower back at the hotel. As he pushed the door open he took one look back over his shoulder, half expecting to see AJ about to jump him and punch his lights out. Licking his bottom lip he caught the last tang of AJ's sweat and for a split second considered heading back to the locker room and screwing the champ through the floor. Smiling, he thought better of it. Precious little Allen Jones would keep for another time.

Oh yeah, he'd keep alright.

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**A/N: So this is my first go at a TNA fic so please be gentle. I've been watching more and more of it since Jan 4th and this latest in my long line of brain!spews is inspired by them turning AJ into the spawn of Flair and Desmond Wolfe amusing me with his rather non-PC attitude. All reads and reviews appreciated apart from flamers lol :)**

**I've left it open in case I want to do more of the same and I suspect that I might ;) DW Muse FTW!!!**

**and p.s. Sera – did you spot it? Black silk ftw XD**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Part two was a long time coming and bent my brain when it did. Thanks a lot Desmond! You'd need to read chapter one to 'really get' this chapter so a refresher or a read over would be advisable.**

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Desmond looked at himself in the mirror, smoothing his jeans down and then pulling his jacket into place. The ripped neck black t-shirt underneath it complimented his shape and the suit jacket gave it just that dressy English edge that he was looking for. He'd chosen the outfit carefully and thought he'd done quite a good job. It ensured that all attention was drawn to one part of his anatomy, the part he wanted a particular pair of eyes to be focused on.

His shades sat in their familiar place just below the bridge of his nose and he looked over them and into the full length mirror of his dressing room. Smiling wickedly to himself he knew he looked good, in fact really good. For once he felt that he was wearing his clothes rather than the other way round. For all his puff-chested bravado inside he was still that same awkward kid that picked the bits off his clothes whether they were there or not and pulled his jacket collars up close around his neck, anything not to get noticed, not to be truly seen.

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"Desmond...Des...come on you lazy little bastard. Its time you got out of that bed of yours and did something. Its two o clock in the bloody afternoon!"

Pulling the pillow over his head Desmond did not want to register the shrill cries of the specimen that claimed to be his mother. The best he could acknowledge was that, much like a dog licence, she'd got the right paperwork to prove that he'd been borne of her questionable loins and there wasn't a fat lot he could do about it.

A couple of months had passed after he'd crashed and burned in his attempts to join the army and he knew that it was time to make the change. He'd got the passion, or at least he thought he had until laying in his bed, his corner of paradise in the squalid tower block they existed in, had taken him over. The warm feeling of nothing was far too inviting. All he did was piss, eat and sign on. His days existed of channel changing, boiling a kettle when he could be bothered and idly flicking through the well thumbed wrestling magazines that much of his government handouts went on.

He turned over and farted for the second time since he'd surfaced from his thick veil of sleep. Desmond cursed himself for consuming the cheap microwave meal that his mother had passed through the reluctantly opened door at around 9pm last night. The crusting remnants of it languished on a tray on the floor, half of it congealed on the black plastic carton and the inedible garlic bread sat at the side of it looking more than a little sorry for itself. He'd never expected her to be Raymond Blanc but even he conceded that the ability to burn meals entirely sealed in plastic had to take some degree of bizarre, if undesirable, skill.

It had only been a couple of weeks since his 18th birthday and as far as he was concerned it was another wasted year gone by. The handful of grotesque greeting cards still sat on the dusty window sill, depictions of golf clubs and old fashioned sports cars decorated them gaudily. He saw them as images that had approximately fuck all relevance to his age, his life, his upbringing or the future as he imagined it would pan out.

The only reason he'd found himself concerned with most of them at all was the fact that they'd contained a reasonable amount of money. The one from his Grandma, all 87 long and hard fought years of her, was the only card he cared about. His bastard of a Granddad, who'd beaten her since the day they'd married, had finally had the decency to up and die the year before which left her alone but happy. On the days when he had to go and sign on for his dole money that's where he'd go and sit for a couple of hours, glad of the peace and quiet and glad that she didn't spend every day talking to four walls. She was always pleased to see him, making pot after pot of tea and serving him slabs of heavenly home made cake that could've choked Elvis.

He was always grateful for her time, her company and her encouragement. She was the only one he ever felt he could open up to, the only one who listened when he told her his dreams; first the army and then the pro-wrestling business. She'd often slip him the odd fiver or tenner from her pension money when she had it spare to go towards his fund for gear and training. His savings seemed to be coming along okay and he knew from the magazines how much was needed and he was almost there. Another month or so and his passport could be sent for, the flight could be booked and maybe his life proper could begin.

...

"Desmond, I'm not wasting my fucking breath shouting you again. You either come down for this dinner or I'm giving it to the fucking dog. Get. Out. Of. Bed."

With one eye barely open and the other closing again already he flipped himself over, belly down on the bobbled sheets. With a sigh he broke wind again, closed both eyes and had a curious vision of his mother wearing the cheap rug that sat in the middle of the lounge floor over her back as she knelt with her face in a tepid bowl of stew.

Such an indignity still seemed too good for her.

What a fucking joke.

* * *

Moving out into the corridor he was ushered along by one of the production assistants. She was one of the younger ones and they chatted away about her latest conquest. Desmond had never been one for gossip but he knew that there was merit in keeping himself popular with everyone other than the guys he threw around the ring. His modest rider was always adhered to; the bottles of water always icy cold and the fruit of the highest quality. Every now and again he'd take the production kids out for dinner or treat them to a round of drinks, sign their memorabilia for them to stick on eBay and make a few extra dollars for themselves. Their earnest looks and actions reminded him of himself when he was younger, desperate to get along, to do well and knowing that half the time it was the money that had held him back. Now he had a better life he tried to repay back the little people, the cogs of the business that had given him the opportunity to be someone, to make something of his otherwise piss poor life.

They got towards the ramp just as she'd finished telling him about what a rat bastard the latest notch had turned out to be and how she'd told him not to waste his time calling again. He patted her on the back and reassured her that she'd find 'the one' one day, although probably not in the parking lot of the nearest Walmart. She shot him a bright smile and gestured for him to go up to the curtain, his latest promo was about to begin.

His music started and after a short walk to the ring he took the mic in his hand and let the magic start. Insults and general abuse of the nation that he'd come to begrudgingly call his second home spilled freely from his sneering lips. At one point he was sure that nobody in the entire Impact Zone could hear a word of it as the boos drowned out every last syllable. Inside his adrenaline levels rocketed. All those miserable afternoons sat indoors while his mates went to the pub or to the football were made worth it by the rush he felt stood in that ring as part of the reason people paid for tickets to come and see their show.

The final part of his tirade covered the reasons he felt that he should be first in line for a shot at the title. He knew full well that any moment AJ would come strutting to the ring accompanied by his elderly mentor and that he would struggle to keep a lid on everything he wanted to say to them. He'd hardly slept that night, his mind full of things he should've said, things he should and shouldn't have done during and after the approach from Ric. No matter what he tried though his mind keep presenting him with the image of a panting and confused AJ. It was something he'd seen when he'd closed his eyes to go to sleep, when he poured his cereal that morning and even as he swaggered arrogantly around the ring. A shiver ran down his spine as he heard the familiar music start and the two figures appear at the top of the ramp.

"Just who do you think you're talking about? I'm the champ. I'm the champ, the phenomenal AJ Styles. This is my ring, my company and you have no right to come out here, running your mouth about how you should be wearing my gold. Wolfe, you're a nothing and a nobody so why don't you shut your mouth and get out of the ring before I get in there and shut it for you."

AJ's words rang out loud and clear and echoed back from the distant corners of the Zone. Desmond eyed them both walking down the ramp and watched as the crowd started to go crazy, the "AJ sucks!" chants getting louder the closer he got. He forced his mind back to the script he'd spent the morning struggling to learn and thankfully was able to force his mouth open to speak, unsure if the words were the right ones but knowing that the general gist would be the same.

"Now you listen here Styles. You and Grandpa here don't scare me. I've eaten wankers like you for breakfast and gone back for more at dinnertime. That gold is going to be mine at Hard Justice so you and your geriatric valet should start getting used to that fact now. In fact, why don't you come in here and we'll talk about this like real men. Face to face."

Desmond could feel the thump of his heart speeding up and the thin coating of sweat forming on the palms of his hands; hands that less than a day earlier had been somewhere else rather than gripping a microphone or gliding millimetres past AJ's face in the upcoming barrage of feinted punches. Normally nervous was a word that didn't exist in his in-ring vocabulary but tonight was different. Tonight mattered more, tonight was the only time for years he'd felt more than carefully manufactured confidence in every aspect of his skillset. AJ had taken off his suit jacket and tie and was just entering the ring. Taking a step back Desmond felt the chill of something hard and cold against his exposed skin of his chest and then out of nowhere the world seemed to slow to a stop. Everything froze.

* * *

_"Nice work kid, we just don't have an opening for you at this time. Try us again in January."_

_"You've got to be kidding me. I know who you are and what you are. We don't have your type here son, I suggest you go looking elsewhere y'hear?"_

_"We're sorry Des, its gonna have to be done. We're letting you go at the end of the week. You've got two weeks money due. That's something to get you by huh?"_

It wasn't that his training hadn't been successful or that some of the better indies hadn't offered him spots which he'd gladly taken. It was his refusal to job to the old, fat, useless guys that was the problem. He had no problem losing but he'd got too much respect for the craft he'd developed during his training to be able to lay down to some 40 year old part-timer with a beer gut.

Over the months it seemed that it was only ever a matter of time served rather than genuine ability that would get him to the top and that wasn't going to happen fast enough for obvious reasons. The impetuous nature of his approach to getting on wasn't tempered by age or experience, both of which he had little compared to those who had either grown up around a ring or in it. Often he felt like a latecomer or a gatecrasher to someone else's party. Try as he did to control it his hunger to win and be the best was doing him more harm than good.

Eventually he'd pissed everyone in the low levels off and didn't have the backing, connections or the friends to grease his path even into something as poorly paid as PWG. There were also some problems with his lifestyle. The older guys didn't seem to give a shit who he was taking home to his rented room but the younger ones took issue with it as did one or two of the promoters when they found brawls happening in the makeshift locker spaces at halls and bar backrooms. Desmond wasn't stupid. He never tried it on with anyone at work, despite the fact that he often found a hand lingering on him too long in the ring, never sure if it was to wind him up or soften him up.

Slowly the money ran out, as did the bookings. His passport was stuffed with just enough cash to fly him home and he'd promised himself that if things ever got so bad that's what he'd do.

That day came all too soon. He'd been given fair warning to be out of his room by the end of the week or get a visit from someone who'd be offering him physical assistance in vacating the property. He hadn't eaten properly in two or three days other than a couple of tins of watery soup that he'd found lurking at the back of his cupboard in the kitchen. Tired, disappointed and weary he'd made the phone call from the pay phone in the hall and booked the cheapest flight home he could. As soon as he put the receiver down he punched the wall and cried hot tears, the first he'd shed in the longest time. All the days of saving, scrimping, starving and working for fuck all had come to nothing other than a grand disappointment. Maybe it was a disappointment he could've avoided if he'd just done what all his other friends did and got a job working for the council or mending cars for a living. Maybe aiming high had been the error and he'd only ever been destined to achieve low.

The warmed up meal on the plane should've helped Desmond to reconstitute, take the hunger from his belly and warm him through. Instead every mouthful stuck in his gullet, tasted bitter and filled him with nothing other than regret. The thought of turning the key in that all too familiar front door filled him with dread despite still being a good 8 hours flying time from home. Swilling the last of the meal down with the artificial tasting fruit juice he made himself a promise that he'd put this right. It wasn't going to end like that. Not for him.

...

He'd been back in the country almost two months when the phone call came. He'd answered the phone and the words being uttered in a slow and metered tone at the other end of it almost made his heart stop. They didn't register at first and he called his mother to the phone, passing it to her and going to sit on in his usual armchair, staring straight out the large window and into the grey and cloudless sky. It wasn't the best day to die but at least it was over.

On his arrival back home he'd discovered that his Grandma had fallen ill. She'd refused to let anyone tell him while he was away but he was furious that his mother hadn't thought to defy her. She'd known how close they were and the mere thought of him not being around when the only person he could say he truly loved needed him most made all his own dreams and aspirations pale into nothing. Since he'd been back every day had been spent whiling away the visiting hours talking to her and trying his best to make her smile. The cancer had spread massively and she'd been made well aware she was on borrowed time.

The day before she'd given him an envelope from her handbag and told him not to open it until she'd gone. He'd made her that promise but suspected that it wasn't going to be one he'd have to keep for very long. Before he'd left she'd held his hand and told him just how proud of him she was, how he should never stop trying, never be satisfied with what life gave him if it wasn't everything he wanted. She told him that he was her favourite grandson and that even long after she was gone she'd always been around. He'd smiled, leant over the bed, kissed her forehead and reassured her that she was going to be around for a while longer, that God wasn't ready for that much havoc in heaven just yet. After a shared smile and some laughter she closed her eyes and yawned, Desmond pulling the covers up around her before leaving, swallowing his fear and sadness that he was on the verge of losing someone so precious and important.

When his mother came off the phone she confirmed what he'd heard. His Grandma had passed away in the night and that she had to go down to the hospital and deal with the paperwork. He watched as she gathered her belongings and left, cursing about the fact that it was raining and that she was due to have her hair done that afternoon. Even in the cold light of day of her own mother's death it appeared she still only had the humility of an SS officer.

After the door closed behind her Desmond headed to his room to get the envelope and open it. He expected nothing more than some of the photos and treasured scraps of paper from his Grandma's purse, things he would've cherished by very nature of the fact that they were precious to her. Instead he found an official looking envelope along with a handful of £10 notes and some change which he imagined had been the contents of her purse when she'd been admitted.

Carefully he opened the starched linen paper envelope and pulled out the documents inside. There was a scribbled handwritten note and a folded bundle of papers. As he read through the note he started to shake. It was a letter from her in the scrawl he'd seen on the bottom of so many cards over the years. A short note saying that she loved him, wanted him to make something of himself and that he needed to go and see her solicitor with the papers she'd enclosed. At the bottom she signed it Grandma Jane and left two scrawly kisses underneath. He traced his fingers across the signature reverently, smiling at the way he could hear her voice in every word of the letter.

Unfolding the other papers he found a copy of her will, some bank statements and insurance documents. He was touched that she trusted him to sort her affairs out and he silently promised her that she'd have a the best send off he could arrange for her. Unable to cope with reading through them properly, the finality of seeing them all too much for him, he shoved them back inside the envelope and curled into a ball on his bed. There were no tears. He wasn't sad to see her suffering end and knew that it would be in the comfortless months ahead that he would feel her loss the most. It was in that same moment that he swore that no matter what it took he would make her proud of him, make everything right again.

* * *

Seconds that seemed like an eternity later he heard his name being called. It sounded like a distant whispered echo, the noise in the Zone flooding his ears. He pulled his shades off his face and stared into the blue eyes coming towards him, his chest heaving hard and every tendon tense to breaking point. A forehead was then pressed against his own and as scripted he threw the microphone aside. Their staredown was due to turn into an inaudible mock war of words before the first punch was thrown and Desmond intended to take it as an opportunity to get a few things off his chest.

"Still horny Styles?"

"Fuck you Des. What was...."

"Fuck me? Told you, not yet mate. Not while you're still riding Ric."

"I'm not rid-"

"Don't fucking lie to me. Don't you fucking dare."

"Des, I'm not – I don't do th-"

"Just everything else besides eh? Saving your cherry are you?"

Their words were turning into snarls, the cameras loving it although thankfully they couldn't get a clear enough shot of their faces as they were pressed so closely together. Both brows were furrowed and eyes narrowed, the neat aggression palpable. Backstage there was much grinning and pleasure at the way the crowd was reacting to these two stars doing nothing more than staring each other down. If only they knew.

"It's not like that!"

"Yeah, whatever. Pull the other one AJ."

"Des, this isn't the place...or the time so knock it off...."

"You started this, you. Not me."

"And I'll finish it too. For God's sake, Des, just leave it be."

"Yeah, about your God AJ, you might wanna look down."

Desmond stopped the battle in its incendiary tracks with that single comment. The script fell by the wayside as AJ took a step back away from him to see what he meant. Eyes scanned Desmond's feet first, a look of total confusion spreading across the face they graced. He watched as AJ tilted his head up slightly to carry on searching for whatever he'd been told to look for. He smirked as the eyes lingered a second than would be considered necessary or polite at the level of his groin and then carried on upwards.

The gaping jaw was enough to indicate that he had seen what Desmond had been referring to. The glint of the gold was a stark contrast to the flesh that appeared above the slashed neck of his t-shirt. There, at the end of a replaced chain, hung the stolen crucifix which rested flush against skin reddened from the anger their confrontational words had caused. Desmond lifted his arm and rubbed at his neck appearing as if in concentration before attacking AJ. He folded his shades shut before hanging them on the neck of his t-shirt which exposed more of his chest and framed the pendant. He smiled widely as the production team gathered at the side of the ramp, unsure whether to intervene, cut the cameras and go to an ad break or even to get someone else to run in and start the beatdown.

There was no time for any of that as AJ climbed back out of the ring, grabbed his jacket from Ric and walked back up the ramp. The loud and almost universal chorus of boos and jeers confirmed AJ's status as a coward. Any of the outcomes of the promo seemed to be appealing for Desmond. He was scripted to walk out of the ring and leave AJ sprawled there with Ric rushing to his side but this was even better. The champ had backed down, bottled it and walked away with not so much as a finger laid on either one of them. Ric followed closely behind, his calls to AJ appearing to fall on deaf ears.

Once the two of them had disappeared backstage Desmond slid his shades back on and offered his trademark salute to the crowd which earned him some expected insults and booing but in truth he didn't care. What he'd set out to achieve had been done. He was still holding the upper hand and in fact, felt as if that hand was twisting one of AJ's right up his yellow striped back. After completing his stroll back up the ramp he turned to stare at the crowd and offer them his rude farewell once more for the benefit of the cameras. Listening to the reaction, knowing that he had finally made it, that his reputation and skill had earned him the hatred made his heart swell with a twisted pride. The only problem was that something prickled away at the back of his mind.

Having unintentionally spent part of the last half hour thinking about his aims, his dreams and how he'd achieved them, something about what he'd done didn't feel quite right. He wondered just for a second what his Grandma would make of what he was doing and who he'd become, knowing that his attitude wasn't entirely just a character that he picked up and dropped whenever it was called upon. Desmond closed his eyes behind the blackness of the lenses and for a moment just thought about it all. Would it make her more proud if he tried to save AJ from what he had become? Or, as he had chosen to do so far, would she care if he just left AJ in the state Desmond imagined him to be in – adrift, alone and ashamed.

* * *

**A/N: So this wasn't the second chapter I had planned for this but its the way it came out. I hope it makes sense, hope it doesn't disappoint after the comings and goings of the first ch. Anyway, DW has pwned me once more. Surprise! All reads and reviews appreciated as ever!**


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